


Red

by flibbertygigget



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Soulmates are messy and complicated and sad, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 09:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8396596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flibbertygigget/pseuds/flibbertygigget
Summary: Aaron Burr was not searching for his soulmate. That didn't make it hurt any less when he shook Alexander Hamilton's hand, stared into those rich brown eyes and wind-red cheeks, and saw nothing.





	

Aaron Burr was an unusual man in that he was not searching for his soulmate.

It was an unfortunate fact that even if you found your soulmate, even if you touched skin to skin and beheld a world of brilliant color, there was no guarantee that you were their soulmate as well. Some had many soulmates, some had none. Sometimes the years would wear your love away until the world was grey again. It was a messy, imprecise system, and Burr wanted no part in it.

That didn't make it hurt any less when he shook Alexander Hamilton's hand, stared into those rich brown eyes and wind-red cheeks, and saw nothing.

It was quite clear, even mere seconds after meeting the man, that Hamilton would have made it known if Burr had been his soulmate. Despite that, Burr couldn't help but invite the man for a drink. Hamilton was free with his affection, overflowing with wit and words, and it seemed like every few seconds his fingers brushed at Burr's wrist or collar and the world exploded in beautiful blues and reds. Burr could have stayed forever at that bar, stealing those glimpses, stealing Hamilton's affection, but it could not last forever.

The revolutionaries entered, and as soon as Laurens' hand touched Hamilton's it was obvious what had happened. Burr tried not to be jealous of how obviously enamoured Hamilton was.

It wasn't Hamilton's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. It was unfair to both of them for Burr to pathetically hang on to what wasn't meant to be, so he allowed himself to fade into the background. He had, after all, plenty of practice.

Years passed. It was 1778 when he met her, smart and beautiful and more alive than anyone he had ever known. When he took her hand to kiss it, he heard the way that her breath caught in her chest. He looked up at her.

"Can you see it too?" Theodosia asked him, desperate.

"Yes," Burr lied.

It took Theodosia a while to discover his duplicity, and by the time she had it hardly mattered. Burr didn't know why he was incapable of being her soulmate, would have given anything for it to be that way, but he loved her, and that was enough. And if he sometimes traced her soft body as she slept, wishing that he could see through her eyes, if only for a moment, well... The soul was something completely beyond his control. He couldn't be discontent when he was by her side and she loved him.

It was a decades before Burr encountered another person who was his soulmate. He and Theodosia moved to New York. He began to practice law. And always there, in his peripheral vision, was Hamilton, climbing and grasping and never touching. Burr hated himself for the brief moments when he would wish that he was Hamilton's soulmate as well. It was worse than cheating on Theodosia, it was a disloyalty that went right down to his core.

That's when Mrs. Maria Reynolds walked into his life.

There were always rumors in New York City, rumors that there was a woman in red who was a siren, someone who made every soul long for her and could make anyone see in color. Burr had never put much stock in such rumors, but there was no denying the truth.

She had come late at night, clothes on the border of what was considered obscene, hands trembling and reaching and touching far more than was proper. For her to be so certain of her powers was enough of a confirmation, especially when her red dress burst into his vision as she clasped his hand, begging for his help.

Burr didn't think that he had ever seen anyone so entranced by rejection.

"But - but surely you see that we are soulmates. If you help me, sir, I can be yours," she said. Burr shook his head.

"We are not soulmates," he lied. Her eyes grew wider. "Now, why was it you wished to see me?"

"My husband - he beats me, I fear that he will hurt my Susan as well, but I cannot - I have no money." Burr understood. In her world, her greatest asset and most valuable currency was the illusion that she could be yours. He couldn't blame her at all. It was a tremendous boon for a woman with nothing else to her name.

"I am willing to handle your case pro bono," he said.

"But-"

"If you are going to insist, I suppose a system of credit could be put in place, for you to repay when you are in a more agreeable position. That is not necessary, however. I am happy to help."

"Sir..." Mrs. Reynolds looked as though she was going to cry. "Thank you. How can I ever - I can't repay you for your kindness, not ever. Even if I was to in my usual way, it would serve me more than you."

"What do you mean?" Burr said.

"I mean," said Mrs. Reynolds, reaching out to take his hand, "I mean that, for the first time in my life, I can see it too. And it's - it's-" Her hand tightened almost painfully around his fingers, and it took everything Burr had to not react to just how brilliant the world was with its colors. "I could almost hate it, if only because the one person who is my soulmate is also the only one to not have me as theirs." She paused, breathless, desperate. "If I were to have you, if only for a night..." It was only then that Burr pushed her away.

"I am a married man," he said. She nodded, blinking back tears.

"Tell me, is it - is it beautiful, to be able to see your lover in all their shades and colors?" Burr turned away from her, hands balling into fists.

"I wouldn't know," he said.

Though Mrs. Reynolds never again suggested that they continue their relationship in a less professional capacity, not even after Theodosia's death, she did stay in contact, a fact for which Burr was immeasurably grateful. It lessened the sting, somewhat, when Theodosia died and Hamilton continued to drive the wedge further between them. Burr knew, of course, that Hamilton wasn't the only one to blame, that Burr could do his part to lessen their division, but he knew that would be unwise. Hamilton had a wife who was his soulmate, it wouldn't do for Burr to try to grasp for someone who was not his to have. It wasn't Hamilton's fault that everyone who had Burr as their soulmate was either dead or out of his star.

Perhaps it was that certainty, that Hamilton and Eliza were happy, as happy as Burr and Theodosia had ever been, that made the Reynolds Pamphlet feel like an almost personal betrayal. Hamilton had had everything, a marriage of two soulmates, a family, a wonderful career, and yet that had not been enough for him. Worse, he had dragged the rest of them into his mess.

Maria was practically in hiding, a public spectacle and disgrace. Eliza, by all accounts, was heartbroken, and some even said that Hamilton was her soulmate no longer. And, as always, Burr was the witness, unable to change the workings of fate or chance or Hamilton, only offer what pathetic support he could.

He did not offer even that to Hamilton.

Burr would have thought, as the Election of 1800 went into full swing and Hamilton's barbs grew fiercer, that he, too, had finally stopped caring for the damned man, but of course it couldn't be that simple. When Hamilton shook his hand, Burr could still see the brown eyes bright with anger and the harsh red flush of his cheeks. Even after Hamilton insulted him, smeared his name unforgivably, Burr knew that Hamilton was still his soulmate. It seemed that he was doomed to be marooned from all he loved and connected inexorably to the one man he could honestly say he hated.

Mrs. Reynolds, now Mrs. Clingman, begged him not to challenge Hamilton to a duel, but Burr was set on his course. He longed to be rid of Hamilton, of the ghost of what might have been if only Burr had been Hamilton's soulmate as Hamilton was his. If Burr died, good. If Hamilton died... well, at least the last color Burr saw of him would be the first.

Red.


End file.
